


spiralling ivy

by kaeg



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Birthdays, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 12:45:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12109014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeg/pseuds/kaeg
Summary: But today—today’s different. Because Alec’s waking up to warm sunlight against his ribs, his arm trailing over silk sheets, his head melting against a pillow too soft to be quite real.He’s in Magnus’ bed. And it’s his birthday.This has never happened before.(aka: birthdays, soft mornings, and travel.)





	spiralling ivy

**Author's Note:**

> yes i'm aware alec's birthday was a good three days ago, yes i'm still going to post this!! i've become weak in my old age, fluff is now the best thing.
> 
> a note: immortality angst whom??? sorry, i only know my favourite immortal husbands, magnus bane and alec lightwood

Birthdays aren’t that important to shadowhunters; Alec knows that. He knows that it’ll get mentioned offhand after a meeting, quiet and secret from Maryse, loud and excited by Izzy. Jace will hug him and call him old, and Max will punch his shoulder a few times,  _ one for good luck— _ a strange mundane tradition he’d heard Clary and Simon mention in passing. There’s no cake, no candles equating his age, no banners and no presents—sometimes, a new dress shirt, or something for his bow. Something practical. Something useful. Something made for a warrior who knows not of lighthearted celebrations except those after battle.

But today—today’s different. Because Alec’s waking up to warm sunlight against his ribs, his arm trailing over silk sheets, his head melting against a pillow too soft to be quite real.

He’s in Magnus’ bed. And it’s his birthday.

This has never happened before.  

And that’s when he begins to feel the gentle, lingering touches; on his hands, trailing up his arms, dipping into the curve of his jaw, pressed against the side of his neck. The little huff of happy air exhaled as a thumb brushes over his collarbone, before his hair is pushed back from his forehead. Legs shift, tangling with his. Fabric whistles as warmth moves closer, and the hand in his hair drops to his stomach, presses against skin, thumbing over runes, running through the hair there.

And Alec has fought in wars, wars with death and unneeded sacrifice; he has trained for battle his entire life. But there’s some part of him that can’t help the slow, dopey smile that spreads across his face as he snuggles deeper into the pillow, hand twitching where it lies, just a moment away from that  _ warmth  _ and that  _ softness  _ and the source of his undying need.

‘Are you asleep?’ A voice murmurs, loud enough for Alec to hear but quiet enough for him to ignore. The movement doesn’t stop, and he feels a hand curl around his side, lightly pressed into his ribs, thumbing at the skin there.

‘Hmm...’ Alec sighs, voice hoarse and wavering, breaking like light at dawn. He stretches out his hand and his fingers curl when he touches smooth skin. He moves closer, a little subconscious thing; a warrior called to arms, a mortal drawn to sirens. ‘No.’

He hears Magnus laugh at that, warm and  _ loving _ . He can feel it, too; breath against his skin, a hand against his side, a foot curled around his ankle, a calf against his thigh.

‘Good,’ Magnus murmurs, and then he’s shifting, the warmth receding, and Alec whines something small in the back of his throat as his hand falls back to the mattress. After a moment, there’s movement, and then Magnus is pushing Alec’s hair aside and presses his lips to Alec’s forehead, letting them linger, speaking against morning-heavy skin. ‘Happy birthday, angel.’   

And Alec knows that he’s meant to thank Magnus, meant to tell him it’s nothing,  _ we don’t really celebrate birthdays unless they weren’t meant to get this far, anyway,  _ but he just sighs into the barely-there touch, realizing both slowly and all at once that hasn’t even opened his eyes. 

With a quick kiss to Alec’s cheek, Magnus is gone, footsteps growing softer and softer as he moves, and they disappear altogether as the bathroom door clicks shut.

Alec plans to go after him, but this bed is  _ so nice.  _ Magnus’ lingering warmth is so  _ lovely.  _ And after all, this day hasn’t started like any other.

So, with sunlight stretching over him like a veil and Magnus’ sheets pooled around his waist, Alec sleeps.

 

* * *

It’s past eleven when Alec finally forces himself out of bed, the only reason for not melting into the sheets being the lack of a body to melt with. He grabs the first thing he finds, throws it on—one of Magnus’ robes, a deep red, bulky and fluffy and warm where it ties around Alec’s waist.

He stumbles rather inelegantly over to the door, and pulls it open, and— 

And it smells like… _ sugar _ . Sugar and something else, something like flowers, fragrant and light and inherently gorgeous. 

‘Magnus?’ He murmurs, not willing to shout, not willing to break this beautiful peace on the one morning he didn’t expect it. 

And hell, just the way Magnus had spoken had been enough to knock Alec off his feet— _ happy birthday, angel,  _ like it’s the millionth time he has said it, like it feels natural, by now. Like the way Alec grinned was always expected, like they have a routine.

There’s a hum of an answer from the kitchen, and Alec can picture it—coffee on the balcony, talking slow and quiet with smiles to put the stars to shame. So he rounds the corner and steps onto cold flooring, wondering if Magnus will make that new coffee Alec likes, now, the one that tastes like peppermint, the one he puts a candy cane into when it’s been a particularly long day of all things boring and restless.

But there’s no coffee on the counter. There’s a radio in the corner, instead, and it’s turned on. The sounds of nylon-stringed guitars ring through like a private symphony, and Magnus is there, facing away from Alec, his hair flopping gently over his forehead. He’s standing at the corner of the stove, one hand pressed into the countertop, fingers drumming against it. 

Two plates sit on the counter, a bowl of fruit between them. A pot sits on the hob, seemingly simmering, the handle turned in.

And Magnus is wearing his robe. Dark blue and detailed, the belt hangs at his sides.

And Alec—well, Alec’s looking at him like he’s the  _ sun _ .

Magnus turns around slowly, eyes widening momentarily in happy surprise, more than anything. He doesn’t stray from the counter but instead leans against it, ankles crossed. Alec takes a step closer, and spots the glittery-looking drinks to his right, raising an eyebrow. If he tries, he can see a waffle iron behind Magnus’ back, and a half-empty bowl of batter next to it.

‘You…cooked?’ Alec asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react to all of this. He doesn’t know whether to say  _ thank you,  _ or  _ you shouldn’t have _ , or something silly like  _ I won’t finish all of this.  _

Magnus laughs, a small exhale, nodding slow. ‘It’s a skill I picked up over the centuries, yes. I do tend to appreciate the finer things—food being one of them.’

‘But you…you  _ made  _ all of this?’ He waves his hand a little, and Magnus snorts. ‘By hand?’

‘I did,’ Magnus says, smiles fondly, like it should be obvious. ‘Special occasions call for special efforts.’ 

And again, for the millionth time in so many minutes, Alec has no real clue what to say. He stumbles over sentences in his head before settling for honesty. 

His voice is barely there, and he’s closer to Magnus, now; close enough that he could reach out and touch the counters, if he tried. ‘Thank you.’

Magnus hums, reaches up to press his hand to Alec’s neck, pulls him down. Alec’s hands meet the countertop, then, and they kiss something slow and celebratory, frozen where they stand, barely touching, even if their souls feel connected by the same thread. 

Magnus pulls away, presses a quick kiss to the tip of Alec’s nose, gesturing back toward the counter with a lazy hand. ‘This will all be finished in fifteen minutes. You can go have a shower, if you want. The table’s almost ready out on the balcony, otherwise.’

Alec smiles, small and sweet, backing away like he wants absolutely anything else. He reaches the bathroom door, watches as it falls shut—not locking it,  _ never  _ locking it; they treat an open bathroom door as less of an invitation and more of a mutual agreement. He goes to turn on the shower but stops, his hand still on the handle. 

Magnus starts humming. It’s slow, both smooth and rough, deep in his throat but light as a feather when needed. Alec listens to him begin to move from the kitchen, opening the doors out onto the balcony, going back and forth without so much as a waver in his voice.

And Alec, well—he’s a lovestruck fool, and bites his bottom lip to hide a grin as he presses his forehead against the bathroom door.

 

* * *

 

There’s a jewellery box on the dresser. It’s like the one Izzy has, at the institute; wooden and carved, little swirling patterns on it’s top and sides, painted decorations here and there.

But somehow, this one is so much nicer. Maybe it’s because it’s in Magnus’ room. 

Maybe, Alec thinks, because it’s  _ his _ , and Magnus is giving it to him.

‘You didn’t have to,’ Alec murmurs, speaking the words aloud for the first time that morning, voice barely there with disbelief. He moves toward the box, almost timid, and runs a hand over the carvings, spiralling ivy and branches lifting from the surface. It’s small, easily mistakable for an ornament, a decoration for a mantel piece.

But Alec can see it, and Magnus can see it, and they know what’ll be inside. They know the collection that’ll build, all the things Alec loves to wear. 

Alec feels Magnus’ presence behind him, barely a moment away, hands clasped where he watches Alec with something hopeful and adoring in his eyes. Moving slow, quiet, he finds himself leaning into Alec’s shoulder, one arm winding around his waist, even as Alec slides the box around on the dresser and picks it up for inspection.

‘It’s small, but I figured it’s a start,’ Magnus says. ‘We can get you something bigger once you need the space.’

And Alec doesn’t respond, not yet; he’s looking for…for  _ something _ , Magnus thinks, judging by the way he keeps running his fingers along the sides, pressing down into the carvings, a repetitive movement that makes a blush crawl up his neck.

‘Alexander?’ Magnus smiles, soft and inviting, and Alec ducks his head.

‘I, uh…’ He mutters, still in focus, and turns his head ever so slightly to watch Magnus from the corner of his eye, putting the box down like it’s fragile. ‘How do you, um, open it?’

And at that, Magnus laughs, gentle and light. He takes his hand from Alec’s waist, reaching for the box with all-too-elegant gestures. ‘Ah, the secret compartment. You slide this across like so—’

He slides the front panel to the right, and hums as he presses a small golden key into Alec’s palm. ‘And there’s your lock.’

Alec moves slow, grinning something lopsided when the lock clicks and the lid opens. However, his smile seems to waver when he peers in at the contents of the box, picking up bracelets and rings and inspecting them.

‘Magnus—’ He says, after an eternity, and takes a special interest in a ring Magnus owns but never wears; textured silver with a thin band, the shapes of diamonds lifting off the surface like shards of stone. He eyes it for a moment, but turns to Magnus with a small, almost disappointed, look. ‘Some of these are yours. I can’t take them.’

‘It’s not taking if I give them to you, angel,’ Magnus says, and reaches down onto the counter. He picks up a bracelet, all too familiar in the best ways, made of small dark spheres and a strong silver clasp. ‘Remember Tokyo? You seemed to like this one specifically.’

And Alec remembers, of course he does; he remembers his lingering eyes as he tried to find the right words to stay, terror creeping into enjoyment. He remembers his hands pressed gently to Magnus’ wrist as he slipped the bracelets off, staring at them like a phenomenon as he put them on. 

Just like then, it seems like his words have escaped him; he shakes his head, a barely-there gesture, and breathes out. ‘I don’t— I don’t know what to say.’       

And it isn’t as if he hasn’t borrowed things from Magnus before; a fair share of Magnus’ more casual clothing have found their way into his wardrobe at the Institute, and sometime he takes to hiding small chainlink necklaces deep beneath his shirt where nobody can see, on those slow paperwork days.

This, though; this is different. This is Magnus handing these things to Alec and not expecting them back at the end of the day. This is him giving Alec his possessions to  _ keep _ , to take care of.

And the jewellry box is beautiful, intricate and so dreadfully  _ him  _ that Alec might burst. But everything that Magnus has put in here, both new and old, holds a deeper meaning than words can even express.

‘Then say nothing,’ Magnus murmurs, and leaves down the bracelet, arms winding back around Alec’s stomach. ‘We can just get ready for the day instead.’

Alec makes a small noise of confusion, turning around in Magnus’ arms, tilting his head. ‘Ready for what?’

‘Well, I’m assuming you want to go and see Isabelle and Jace on your special day,’ Magnus notes, hands curling into Alec’s sides and the fabric of his shirt, ‘and when you come home, I was thinking we could…travel.’

‘Where?’

He smiles at that, steps further into Alec’s space. ‘Wherever you’d like, Alexander.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Alec murmurs, after a moment, because how did he get this? When did luck come to his side? ‘That sounds nice.’

And when Alec starts picking out his clothes from the lines assembled in Magnus’ wardrobe, slipping bracelets and rings on and off, twirling his wrist in the light, Magnus watches and smiles.

 

* * *

 

Magnus is watching the river water rippling where he stands on Charles Bridge, hands clasped on the low brick wall, and Alec thinks he’s never had a more perfect day in his life.

Well, every day he’s spent with Magnus has been perfect, and brilliant, and memorable—but tonight, with bubbles of champagne still burning on his tongue, his scarf soft and warm around his neck, there’s something more. Something different.

Maybe it’s the way Magnus had reached for his hand, entwined their fingers, and dragged them toward one of the strangest and most intriguing pieces of architecture Alec has ever seen; windows covering almost every inch of the wall, connected to a glass cylinder, curved, bent inwards like it’d been kicked. Maybe it’s the way Magnus had led Alec to the empty elevator and kissed him slowly, gentle behind closed doors, resolve already back in place by the time they reached their floor—even if his grip on Alec’s hand was a little softer, his smile a little wider, pressed even closer into Alec’s side.

Maybe it’s the way the shards of chandelier light had reflected off of Magnus’ skin, the white painted walls and velvet furniture contrasting against Magnus’ deep blue shirt where it shimmered and clung to his chest, hidden behind an off-grey blazer and scarf. 

They wandered for a bit, after dinner; Magnus tucked his hand into the crook of Alec’s elbow and it felt surreal, like they were frozen in a greyscale image. They moved toward the bridge, toward the low wall there, and then something seemed to change. Magnus pulled his hand from the warmth of Alec’s side and stared out at the river like he was looking for something, looking for answers.

There’s nothing  _ wrong,  _ no; maybe it’s exhaustion that has Magnus fiddling with his rings against concrete, and maybe the cold is what has him biting his lip. But Alec can’t help but wonder.

He steps closer into Magnus’ space, the slightest invitation, and drops his hand onto the concrete. They don’t touch, but they’re close enough that it’s a possibility. 

Magnus’ fingers seem to twitch slightly, coloured nails curling back into his palm. He smiles, exhales something gentle.

‘Do you consider the loft to be  _ ours,  _ Alexander?’ And it catches Alec slightly off-guard, how light the question sounds, how heavy it feels. Like Magnus has been mustering up the courage all night to ask it. 

The thought of that does something funny to Alec’s bones, like he may just collapse.

‘I think so,’ he says, a barely-there confession, and bows his head. ‘I think it’s— it’s  _ home _ . And it’s different from the Institute.’

‘How so?’ Magnus says, voice still the slightest bit wobbly, and his hand inches toward Alec’s own, pressing skin against skin, cold to warm. 

‘Everything there always feels like work,’ Alec begins, and remembers the years he’d spent feeling trapped by legacy, trapped by the expectations looming over him that he didn’t know how to fulfill. ‘I wake up to train, and I eat to keep my energy up, and I sleep to be ready for the next mission.’

Alec moves closer to Magnus’ side, until they’re shoulder-to-shoulder, until he can feel Magnus’ warmth through the fabric of his jacket. ‘It’s…different, with you. I wake up early if I want to. I stay in bed if I feel like it. I eat because we always have dinner together, or you have it ready for me when I get home. I sleep because I get to, uh…I get to be with you.’ 

Magnus makes a small noise, something shocked and satisfied, and Alec turns his palm so that Magnus’ fingers slide into the gaps between his. ‘I don’t think I ever knew what home was. And then I met you, and I kind of figured it out.’

Something seems to change, then, like the atmosphere starts shifting, moves to accommodate the truth laid out between them. The pieces all seem to fall together, because Alec has found a home in Magnus, and it’s about time the universe knows.

Magnus’ head drops, a little surprised gesture, and he hums. It always seems rare for Alec to stun Magnus into silence, and yet he’s frozen in place, contemplating and processing. He goes to purse his lips but ends up smiling, instead, starting small and blooming into something beautiful.

It’s been awhile since anybody has spoken. Even with the crowds behind them, making their way up and down the bridge, the world seems to have stopped turning. And then Magnus looks up at Alec, vulnerable in the most beautiful sense.

‘I’d like you to move in with me, Alexander,’ Magnus says, full of truth and hope and  _ need _ , and something about it makes Alec weak at the knees, makes him reach out and press a hand to Magnus’ waist like he’ll collapse without the touch. ‘Formally, if you’d allow it. I think we both deserve a real home to return to at the end of the day, in both ways—person _ and _ place.’ 

_ Of course,  _ Alec wants to say; he wants to shout it, to pick Magnus up and spin him around and say he’s never wanted anything more, that he’s all for formalities and  _ you’re my home, too, Magnus, I don’t know how to say it and really  _ mean  _ it but I  _ need  _ to—  _

So he pulls Magnus in and kisses him under the golden-orange lights, on a bridge in Prague, alcohol still warm in his throat, the air still gone from his lungs. 

They pull back, foreheads still touching, the two of them seemingly on the same wavelength, two souls connected by the same constellations. Their heavy breathing fans out like fog and they both smile, wide and blistering and uncontainable.

Alec wonders what it’ll be like to move all of his things into Magnus’ apartment, clothes and books and photos, and almost kisses Magnus again, just because he can, just because he’ll never have to really go without it again.

‘Shall we wander?’ Magnus whispers like a secret, and meets Alec’s eyes with something  _ new,  _ something undeniably  _ young _ .

‘I don’t think I have anywhere I need to be,’ Alec says, and grins. He feels warm all over when they begin to walk again, Magnus’ hand tucked back into his elbow, Magnus’ head on his shoulder. 

There’s extra space in the wardrobe the next morning, Alec notices. He kisses Magnus when he wakes up and wears a necklace outside of his shirt like a celebration.

**Author's Note:**

> come chat with me on tumblr!!! [@dandymot](http://dandymot.tumblr.com)
> 
> edit: it has been a couple months since i wrote this and it accidentally got pretty popular pretty fast???? and since im always terrible at replying to comments i just neglected it until it was too late. however, please know that i do get email notifs for comments and rest assured that i have laughed/screamed/cried over all the kind things you guys have said. <3


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